


Resolved

by summerofspock



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: (they sober up before shenanigans), Alcohol, Blow Jobs, First Time, Love Confessions, M/M, New Year's Eve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:28:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28470153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerofspock/pseuds/summerofspock
Summary: It's the year 2000 and there are just so many things Aziraphale hasn't done.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 38
Kudos: 467





	Resolved

**Author's Note:**

> a contribution for the To The World Zine and beta'ed by Euny_Sloane

_ 2000 _

“Another millenium,” Aziraphale grouses, slurping the final drops from his wine glass as the midnight fireworks explode across the screen of Crowley's television. "How many is that now? Four? Five?"

"Six, angel," Crowley slurs. He sits up from his ungainly sprawl on his sofa and holds up the requisite number of fingers, surprised to see he needs two hands. 

"See, six."

Aziraphale frowns and drops back against the cushions. His thigh is banging up against Crowley’s knee and has been for the better part of two hours. Neither of them have mentioned it. Mainly because, if they mention it, they both know it will likely stop and neither of them wants that at all.

"I'm getting old, Crowley," he grumbles.

Crowley snorts and falls back against the cushions too. They're both drunk so if their limbs collide a bit, maybe Crowley’s arm crossing over Aziraphale’s, maybe their ankles hooking together; it's really nobody's fault.

"Old," Crowley scoffs. 

Aziraphale lolls his head to look at him. At some point his glasses have migrated under the sofa, forgotten til tomorrow. His hair is escaping the low bun he keeps it in. Wisps curl around his cheeks, flirting with the corners of his mouth. 

_ Beautiful _ , is the thought that drifts lazily into Aziraphales mind.

"If  _ you're _ old,  _ I'm _ old,'' Crowley says. "And I'm not old.

Aziraphale ignores him. "I've been on earth for six thousand years and there are so many things I haven't done. What if another millennium goes by and Armageddon finally happens and I still havent done any of it?"

Crowley nudges him with his elbow. "Could make one of those lists."

"Lists?" Aziraphaer says, refocusing his gaze on Crowley’s which had maybe drifted to the patch of exposed skin where his collar is open. But that's because Aziraphale is drunk. The only reason.

"Ya know. Resolutions. Humans do 'em for the new year. You could do new millenium resolutions."

Crowley looks very proud about the idea, so Aziraphale considers it. There's really nothing wrong with having goals.

"Alright," he says finally, "Yes. A list. I'm going to—I'm going to sober up or I'll never be able to think of anything."

"Ugh, alright, don't wanna be the only sloshed one," Crowley grumbles.

A few loud noises and embarrassing faces later, they're both sober and pulling away from each other without trying to draw attention to how close they'd been until that moment. It doesn't work very well—Aziraphale immediately leaps to his feet and snatches the notepad from beside Crowley's answering machine. 

"A list!" he says to cover the burning of his cheeks.

"Right," Crowley says. He clears his throat and crosses his legs. "A list."

"Well, first..." Aziraphale says, and he gets down to business.

The first ten are travel destinations which Crowley deems easy enough. After that are some rare cuisine items Aziraphale has been dying to try. He's so caught up in the euphoria of planning that he doesn't even think to be embarrassed when he says, "Oh and you know, I think I'd finally like to know what all the fuss is about orgasms."

Crowley, who had been in the middle of biting into a cracker, spits it out onto the coffee table. "What?"

Aziraphale realizes what he's said and knows there is no way out. He's not looking forward to explaining to the love of his lengthy existence (and the person he'd prefer to be getting his orgasms  _ from _ ) that he has not yet found the time to give himself one. He explains it anyway. 

“It’s just I sort of always thought I’d have a partner and whenever I was—” Oh, goodness, he is going to say it. “—in the mood, I’d always get far too distracted to get anywhere by myself.”

Crowley’s face has gone as red as his hair and he takes a long drink from the refilled bottle. They’ve both abstained from alcohol until this moment and Aziraphale wants to reach for his own bottle but would be mortified if his hands shook. He won’t risk it.

“So you’ve never even...alone?” Crowley asks, voice tight.

Aziraphale shakes his head and looks at his hands. He fiddles with the ring on his pinky. There’s a very good reason he and Crowley have never discussed bedroom matters and it’s because they both know they’d like to  _ be in the bedroom _ doing the matters together.

Crowley clears his throat again and the noise draws Aziraphale’s attention, his gaze skating up the long line of Crowley’s torso, the wide gap of his collar. The room is suddenly stifling as he meets Crowley’s eyes.

“I mean...I could...yanno.” Crowley makes an awkward gesture with his hand.

“What?” Aziraphale asks. Well, squeaks. Because all the air has abandoned his lungs.

“...lend a hand?” Crowley finishes, an echo of a phrase they’ve used many times before in more innocent situations.

Without warning, Crowley is on the floor in front of him. His hands part Aziraphale’s knees. Aziraphale tries to take in the fact that there’s now a demon between his thighs, but his head spins as Crowley rubs persuasive circles there with his thumbs. 

Aziraphale covers Crowley’s hands with his own and finds his voice, just barely, but he manages it. “Crowley, if we do this, I think we both know it’s not just—it won’t just be—”

Crowley rises up on his knees and grips Aziraphale’s hands. There’s a look in his eye Aziraphale recognizes from their occasional quarrels. Crowley has made his decision and Aziraphale can either go along with it or take a hike. 

“Maybe you’re not the only one who regrets not doing certain things these last 6000 years,” Crowley says before releasing Aziraphale’s hands and dropping back onto his heels. 

The sight of him there has Aziraphales cock filling his trousers. Aziraphale has shamefully imagined this many times. It feels less shameful when Crowley's hands go to his zip. Instead, he feels euphoric. Aziraphales hips jump under the brush of those knuckles, those slender fingers, and he knows already that this won't last long. This is everything Aziraphale has wanted for half a century or more, given freely by the only person Aziraphale has ever wanted it from. 

Crowley looks up at him, through copper lashes, with a devastatingly hungry look on his face, before he tugs Aziraphales pants down the barest inch.

Aziraphale gasps at the touch of Crowley’s hand on his cock, the first besides his own. He expected it but it's still overwhelming, the way it tightens his belly, the crash of sensation running up his spine.

And then Crowley takes his cock into his mouth.

Aziraphale shouts at the new sensation, the heat of it as his back arches in pleasure. Crowley sucks him down, his cockhead bumping the back of his throat. It’s all Aziraphale can do to force himself to lay back, sink his hand into Crowley’s hair and watch. 

Between his legs, utterly focused, Aziraphale’s cock stretching his mouth, Crowley looks beautiful. He hopes that Crowley will allow him to return the favor, inexperienced as he is.

But it’s growing difficult to think with Crowley touching him like this:the sensation of Crowley’s mouth on him, pushing him closer to the orgasm he’s never been able to find alone. And when Crowley twists his hand just right, his inhuman tongue flicking around his shaft, the mounting pleasure finally breaks apart and it's better than Aziraphale could ever have imagined; sparks pop across his eyes, a keen delight stringing through him. He can’t even manage a warning before his orgasm crashes through him, but it doesn’t matter. Crowley swallows around him, drinking him in. 

“Oh my goodness,” he says to the ceiling when his vision finally clears. He looks down at Crowley where he’s still seated between his legs, looking very pleased.

“Any more resolutions for the millennium?” Crowley asks, dropping his head onto Aziraphale’s thigh.

Aziraphale sinks his hand into Crowley’s hair and catches his breath. “I think the first on the list is to kiss you.”

Crowley looks up at him and smiles. “We can make that happen.”

And they do.


End file.
